My Last Breath
by IantoCriss
Summary: 5 times Kurt Hummel joked about suicide, and the 1 time it wasn't a joke.


**A/N: I'm working on chapter 18 of As You Wish, don't worry about that. This plot-bunny bit hard, and I wrote this today. It completely warped from what I had originally planned it to be, but... This is what you get.**

**WARNING: trigger for suicide, and suicide attempts. Go to suicidehotlines(.)com if you or anyone you know is having thoughts of suicide.**

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><p><strong>5 times Kurt Hummel joked about attempting suicide and 1 time he actually did.<strong>

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><p>1. His clothes are ruined; he smells like... urine. Those stupid, neanderthal jocks threw pee balloons on him as he was walking home.<p>

_R-E-S-P-E-C-T, find out what it means to me_

"Mercedes!" he shrieks into his phone. "Oh, my Gaga! My new Cavalli sweater is _ruined_!"

"What's going on, boo?" she asks, sounding a little amused.

"Not funny, 'Cedes. Those idiots threw balloons filled with _pee_ at me! _PEE!_" He's so angry, he can barely tell where he's going; he just knows that he reeks and his clothes are destroyed.

"Oh, hell no!" she yells, and he flinches at the outburst. "Those assholes deserve to get their Titan asses _kicked_! You okay, baby?"

He takes a deep breath, then regrets it when he gags. "I will be, but my clothes... I might as well go kill myself. They were so beautiful, 'Cedes!" he sighs, then looks up. He's home, and now he can take a much-needed shower, and get his clothes to the dry-cleaner downtown. Maybe Mr. Diamonte can get his precious clothes back to their perfect condition.

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><p>2. "I swear, Rachel Barbra Berry, if you wear that god-awful unicorn sweater <em>ever<em> again, I will forcibly take it off of your body and hang you with it. Or me. Either way, I _never_ want to see it. _**Ever. Again.**_"

"Wait, Rachel's taking her shirt off? Can I watch?"

"No, Finn, just... no."

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><p>3. Burt Hummel's a good dad. He's a great dad, even. Kurt just can't see it right now.<p>

"But Daaaad!" Burt winces at the high pitch his son's voice takes on when he whines. The kid could corral dogs with that voice.

"No 'buts', Kurt. I said 'no'. Leave it."

"Dad, Rachel, Mercedes and Tina are all going, and if they see Lady Gaga in concert without me, I might as well go jump off a bridge and off myself."

Burt can't believe what he just heard. Yeah, his kid is an over-emotional teenager, but death is _not_ something they'd ever joke about in their household; not after Elizabeth died.

"Kurt, you stop it right now. I said 'no', now knock it off. And don't you ever say that again, you understand me?" Burt's voice is hard; he needs his son to really listen to him.

"Yes, _Dad_." Kurt says with a little bit of attitude, then turns on his heel and heads toward his room. Within seconds, Burt hears that Gravity-something song blasting from the basement, and he knows that Kurt is in full mope-mode.

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><p>4. "You think that's hard? Try getting Will Schuester to cut the brillo pad off of his head, <em>that's<em> hard!" Sue Sylvester screams into her megaphone at yet another back-breaking Cheerio's practice. "You're all pathetic, get off my field!" a rather rude hand gesture accompanies her outburst, and the group of cheerleaders rush off of the field and into the locker rooms.

None of the girls bat an eyelash when Kurt follows them into their locker room; there may be other male cheerleaders on the squad, but they're no more accepting of his sexuality than the football players. Besides, the girls consider him one of their own.

"Nice backflip, Hummel." Santana compliments him (a rare thing, truly) as she sheds her skimpy top, folding it with as much care as Kurt uses with his many designer clothes.

"Thanks, Satan." he smiles, and continues changing into his ultra skintight purple jeans and silver button-down. "Although if I mess up on it like I did yesterday, I'll have to kill myself just to save Coach Sylvester the trouble." he and the girls giggle, knowing that even through all the threats and insults, their coach pretty much loves them.

"HURRY IT UP, YOU FREAKSHOWS!"

All the girls (and Kurt) shoot each other frightened looks, then bolt out of the locker room as quick as they can.

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><p>5. Wesley Montgomery was confused. While the Warblers' impromptu performances were spontaneous to the student population, they were thoroughly planned within the Warblers themselves. He was <em>not<em> used to impromptu performances from individual Warblers; especially not from Warblers who weren't in their uniforms.

Things were quickly explained, however, when Kurt announced that Pavarotti, that sweet, sweet bird, had died of a stroke that morning. Well, he could understand the emotion, and he knew that singing was very cathartic for some people. He'd let this slide; but just once.

The song was soon over, and the rest of the rehearsal went as planned, except for Kurt's uniform, but again, he'd make allowances.

"It's not like I'd go and kill myself to be with him. He was important, but not important enough for me to slit my wrists over it. I'd get blood on this jacket, and I'm sorry, nothing is worth this jacket. I spent 6 months worth of allowance on this thing, there's no way I'd get it dirty." Kurt was rolling his eyes at someone's concern for his mental health and emotional well-being.

"I'm just making sure that you're okay. I know how hard it can be, losing a pet." Oh, it was Blaine. Wes noticed that the soloist had an arm around Kurt's shoulder, and he had a worried look on his face.

"I'll be okay, Blaine, don't worry about me." he gave a small, watery smile. "Now, let's practice our two-stepping, we've got to blow the judges away with our P!nk stylings!"

That was more like it, Wes thought. This was about Regionals, and about winning. The Warblers would soon be back on top, where they belonged. And no, by the way, that was not a comment to be taken sexually. Because Wes is totally straight. Completely. Right.

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><p>+1. He's done. He's given up, finally. He's in his room, on his bed, and the empty bottle of Vicodin is sitting on his vanity, next to a short note he wrote for his father.<p>

_Dad, I'm so sorry. I love you, I just can't keep doing this.  
>I thought I would be okay, I thought I could handle it. I didn't know it would hurt like this, and I had to make it stop.<br>I love you, and I love Carole and Finn. Please, remember that, and please, __**please**__ don't blame yourself.  
>It's not your fault, you did your best. You're a great father, and a great man. I love you, Daddy.<br>- Kurt Elizabeth Hummel_

His cell phone is off, to stop any incoming texts from Blaine. He knows that the cryptic message he sent will drive Blaine crazy, but he also knows that the two hour drive from Dalton is too long (he was visiting his old classmates), and Blaine won't make it in time. Besides, he's on the second floor of the house, and all the doors and windows downstairs are locked; he can't get in, he can't save him.

The bullying at McKinley had taken a turn for the worse after Blaine had transferred there. It was still typical stuff for him (dumpster tosses, slushies, being slammed against lockers), but watching Blaine go through it was tough. It didn't help that once Blaine had gone home for the day and Kurt was alone after Cheerio practice, the football and hockey teams joined up to beat the living crap out of him.

His body was covered in bruises, and since it was winter, no one had known. Blaine had even been kind and sweet about 'slowing things down' physically, so that he wouldn't have to show him the disgusting marks. The worst, though, had happened that day. He knew his left ankle was probably broken, but he hadn't been thinking when he got home. He just hobbled up to his room, found his bottle of Vicodin from his fractured wrist a few years ago that he never finished, and took one.

Apparently, Vicodin changes after it's been expired. It's power increases, and one pill does the work of two. Unfortunately for Kurt, he still hurt, all over. One pill turned into two, two turned into three, and three turned into the rest of the bottle, all 7 pills. Somewhere between the third and fifth pill, he decided that his was what he needed to do. He needed to leave.

In his head, the beautiful voice of Amy Lee sings a song he's known for years. He sees Blaine's sweet face, his eyes crinkling as he smiles that smile, the one that he had the moment they first met on the winding staircase at Dalton.

_hold on to me, love  
>you know I can't stay long<br>all i wanted to say was 'I love you and I'm not afraid'  
>can you hear me?<br>can you feel me in your arms?_

He thinks he can hear his boyfriend's voice, screaming his name. He thinks he can hear the smashing of wood, and more screaming. He thinks he can feel cold hands touching his face, shaking him. He thinks he can hear sobbing, and a strangely mechanical voice somewhere in the background.

Kurt's eyes open, for real this time, and the image of a heartbroken and crying Blaine greets him. Blaine's sitting next to him on the bed, and the shaking he thought he imagined is obviously what woke him.

"B-Blaine?" he croaks, hating the way his pathetic voice sounds.

"Baby? Kurt, baby?" Blaine gasps. "Oh, thank god! Honey, Kurt, baby, the ambulance is on it's way, and so is your dad. You scared me so much, Kurt, Jesus." He pulls Kurt up to sitting, clutching him to his chest and peppering his forehead with kisses.

"N-no, no, just let me, let me go." Kurt can't stop the tears from falling, landing silently on Blaine's green long-sleeved Henley, the one Kurt bought him for Christmas.

"Let you go?" Blaine sounds so scared, and a bit angry. "No! No, Kurt, I love you, dammit! I love you and I won't let you go!" He pulls back a little, making sure that Kurt can see him.

"I'm... Blaine..." he can barely speak now. "Hurts." he whimpers.

"I know, baby, I know it hurts, but we can do this. We can do this together and you'll be alright. Come on, Kurt, for me." Kurt can hear sirens now. He wonders if Blaine's telling the truth, if he'll be alright. He wants to believe him, but even through the haze of the pills, he can feel the pain. It's not just physical pain, he knows; it's all the years of emotional torture he's dealt with. From pee balloons thrown by the McKinley High jocks, being thrown into dumpsters, threatening phone calls to his father, and an unwanted kiss from his biggest tormentor.

He knows it's not alright now, and even if Blaine believes that it will be, he doesn't. Besides, the only real reason Blaine's at McKinley is because of him, and if he's not there, then there's no reason for Blaine to be, either. Blaine can go back to Dalton, go back to being around people who were worthy of his attention. Kurt never was.

Soon enough, Kurt blacks out. Blaine's still sobbing, holding his boyfriend tight, terrified of letting go. The paramedics are there in record time, and they pry Kurt from his arms. He runs after them, and they let him ride in the ambulance with him.

He's with Kurt until they get there, and Burt Hummel takes his place, thanking him and pulling him into a tight hug, telling him he loves him for doing this for their family; finding his hurting son.

He's there when the doctor comes out, a small smile on his face. He hears the doctor tell them that Kurt's going to be fine, at least physically, but yes, he'll need some sort of help.

He's still there when Kurt gets out of his therapy sessions over the next five months.

He's still there at graduation, holding Kurt's hands tightly as he pulls him in for a kiss when the rest of the students are tossing their caps in the air.

He's definitely still there the day they move into their first apartment, in New York City, of course.

He's most definitely still there, standing across from the man he's marrying as they exchange vows on the happiest day of their lives.

No, the happiest day of their lives is the day their daughter is born. The day that their surrogate (Brittany Pierce, of all people) gives birth to their beautiful little girl, Hope Elizabeth Hummel-Anderson. And yeah, he's still there. Both of them are.

Kurt walks into the nursery, coming up on the most beautiful thing he's seen all day; his curly-haired, exhausted husband cradling and cooing at their daughter. He listens for a bit, and tries to stop the tears that come when he hears what he's saying.

"See this, Hope? This thing on my wrist, it's something your other daddy sent me once. See what it says? He sent that to me once, when we were in high school. It saved him, little one, and it saved me, too. If he hadn't sent that to me, we wouldn't have you. We wouldn't have you, and I wouldn't have him. I love you so much, Hope." he hears Blaine sniffle a little bit, and can't help himself; he moves toward two of the most important people in his life and envelopes them both in a warm, loving hug.

"I meant it, you know. And I mean it even now." he whispers into Blaine's ear.

"So do I, baby. So do I." Blaine turns, and the two share a kiss, one that says everything they've ever needed to say.

Many years later, when Kurt's giving the heartbreaking eulogy at Blaine's funeral, in front of hundreds of family and friends, including their children, grandchildren, and the great-grandchildren, he tells the story of that fateful day. He tells them about the text message he sent his future husband, and how it saved his life. How _Blaine_ saved his life.

He talks about even though Blaine was scared to death of needles, he still did it; he still got the tattoo. He talks about how even though Kurt was even _more_ afraid of needles, he got it that morning, the morning of the funeral. He shows them the tattoo along his left wrist, still fresh and still sore, but it means so much to him.

After the funeral, he goes back to the home he shared with Blaine for the last 52 years of their lives, and goes to their room. He doesn't bother taking off any of his clothes, he just lays down. He pulls Blaine's pillow over to him, clutching it to his chest like Blaine held him so many years ago, and lets the tears fall. He falls asleep like that, and the next morning, when his daughter Hope finds his lifeless body, she can see that her father's lips are to his wrist, to the words that saved him to begin with.

_I still love you._

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><p><strong>AN Was that sufficiently depressing? Gah. I'm sitting in a public cafe, and I just about started crying when I was writing the end. Jesus. O.o**


End file.
